Hey, Mello
by StrawberryMerry
Summary: I know you're not really saying what everyone hears, because with every thrust of your hips, every burning kiss on my lips, and with every gentle touch to my body you tell me just how much you love him. And because I love you, asshole, I let you use me.


Hey, Mello…

You've never actually told me the reasons for your demands, but you don't have to. I get you Mello. Better than anyone.

You tell me not to speak, and I know that it's because my voice is not his. You embrace me with a gentleness that is so unlike you, because in your mind his body is soft and fragile and you don't want to bruise his moonlight skin. As you kiss me with the passion of a lover, you hold your blue eyes closed so as not to see my face—because it is not his.

And although I do all you ask, I can tell it's not enough for you. It's always shortly after you breathe his name softly into my ear as you come inside of me that you finally open your eyes and you're dissatisfied all over again. I know what you want. Perhaps you lose yourself in the post bliss of your orgasm and imagine that when you open your eyes he'll be lying beneath you, cradled in your arms like the innocent child he physically appears to be, while forgetting that it's actually me.

And it will always be me, and you know that and you hate it.

But I know you don't hate _me_. You just hate that I'm not him. And I don't want to be him, because at least like this I can touch you. But he is openly scorned by you, and I know it hurts him. And you know it hurts him, don't you Mello? I can see it in the smile you force on your face as you verbally attack him for absolutely no reason, but it's most obvious when you tell him how much you _fucking _hate him.

I know you're not really saying what everyone hears, because with every thrust of your hips, every burning kiss on my lips, and with every gentle touch to my body you tell me just how much you love him.

And it's your lingering gaze on the white clad boy when you think that no one is looking that tells me that you know that you will _never_ be able to hold the real thing in your arms like you are holding me now.

I open my eyes and watch your face as you rock gently into my body, and I wonder if you're thinking about how different I am from him. Even if you keep your eyes closed, Mello, it doesn't change the fact that my body is almost twice as long as his and that my shoulders are too broad. I'm just 'too' everything. My skin is too dark and rough in comparison to his snow white, baby smooth complexion. I'm sure that when you run your fingers across my chest and down my arms that you feel the scars marring my body, and you think to yourself that it's wrong, because he doesn't have scars or imperfections of any kind. He is perfect.

But Mello, I'm not perfect.

And it's probably better that you keep your eyes closed. You don't need to see my flaming red hair or the dark blue of my eyes. All you need is to keep your eyes closed and imagine his soft powder white locks and his flat black eyes gazing up at you.

"Ah…Nn…"

And your tongue is pressed against your gritted teeth as you try to stop yourself from saying his name, and my arms tighten reflexively around the back of your neck to pull you closer to me until our lips are brushing softly against each others with every thrust.

Your cock is hot as it continues to slide inside of me, and I eat you up hungrily all the way to the base until I can feel your heavy sac pressed against my naked skin, right before you pull out again. I have to bite down on my lip in order not to moan, because I know you'll get angry and stop because the sound of my too deep voice apparently makes you go limp.

You like a voice that sounds like teddy bears, plastic choo-choo trains, and remote controlled robots.

As you crash into me again, our hips rubbing almost painfully, I close my eyes and my mind inadvertently goes back to the time that he arrived at the house. He was brought inside, his small white hand clutching Wammy's finger and in his free hand he held a bright red plastic airplane. It was the first and last time I remember him ever looking scared. You were standing beside me, along with the other kids in the house as the white haired toddler was introduced to us. I can recall in detail how captivated you seemed by him, more so than anyone else. At the time, I was so young I didn't see it, but now as I reflect back, that was actually the first time you'd given anything so much attention besides a bar of chocolate.

And the seeds of obsession had been planted.

You'd leave our room in the middle of the night when you thought I was asleep to sneak down the hall and peek into his room. I'd watch you from our doorway out of curiosity. You'd sit in front of his closed door with your ear pressed flush against it, listening to who knows what. You later told me that you heard 'some kids' in the house saying that he often cried at night, and you said something cruel about how he was a wimp, but I knew the truth, Mello. Because every night at the same time that you'd crawl out of your bed and down the hall to sit in front of his room, I'd watch you.

You don't know this because I never told you, just like you never told me about how you used to sneak into his room and comfort him when his nightmares became too hard for him to handle. Yeah, I remember the shock I felt seeing you get up from your position in front of his door, twist the doorknob and disappear inside, not to appear until the early dawn when you would sneak back into our room as if you'd never left. And how did I know you were comforting him? Because once you slipped inside of his room, I'd then fill the vacant position in front of his door, my ear pressed where yours had been. And I'd hear the two of you.

Mello, if it hadn't been for the fact that I'd seen you go inside of his room, I would've thought it was someone else.

I was jealous, I'll admit it. You were supposed to be my best friend, and there you were telling some new kid all of these stories about you and your past that I'd never heard, just so he'd stop crying and be able to have a peaceful sleep.

Yeah, I really thought you liked him, and it ate me up inside.

It was only a few hours after the entire house had gone to sleep, not all too close to midnight yet, when the door to our bedroom creaked open. The sound of the door swinging on it's rusty hinges had awoken me and I sat up thinking you had gone to the bathroom or something, only to see a snow white head of hair at the end of my bed slowly making its way towards yours. I watched silently as he pulled back your covers and crawled into your bed with you, tucking his head to your chest and curling into a little ball.

You didn't stir once, and not bothering to do anything in my groggy state, I just went back to sleep.

I was awoken a second time that night by your hushed whispering. It's not that you were being loud; I'm just a light sleeper. I didn't want you to know that I was awake, and so I laid there and listened.

"_Why are you in here, Near?" _Your voice held nothing but concern, but I could hear the underlying anxiety. What were you scared of Mello? That I would find out about your friendship with the quiet, weird boy? Mello, if you had just told me from the beginning, maybe it would be him you were thrusting into.

I didn't hear what he said in response, _if_ he even said anything, but I could tell that somehow you came to the conclusion that his being there was perfectly justifiable, because I saw, with the help of the silver moonlight filtering through the bedroom window, your arm wrap around him and hug him close.

"_You can't stay here."_ You whispered to him gently.

"_I'm scared_." It was actually the first time I had ever heard his voice, but I sort of understood why you felt the need to comfort him. He sounded absolutely pitiable.

"_I told you I'd come later. What if someone saw you come in here?" _

"_Why is it bad?"_ He asked you, his voice frail and vulnerable.

And I waited for you to answer him with baited breath, but you never did. But Mello, _why_ was it bad? At the time, I didn't know, but I do now.

Your pride.

The kid was brilliant. Everyone knew it. Until his arrival, it had been you first in line to become L's successor. And you loved the attention and being the best. You thrived off of it.

And then he came and stole it away.

And everyone expected you to care when the word got out that you were no longer first. The children in the house would watch you with expectant eyes when you passed Near or if they were talking about him, they'd instantly purse their lips. And it got to you. You always had a reputation for bullying those who threatened you in any way, and at the time Near was the most prominent threat and everyone knew it. They were just silently anticipating your wrath.

And you couldn't bring yourself to disappoint them.

I was under the shadow of the giant oak tree in the back yard, watching from the sidelines as you and some of the kids from the house stood in a circle around Near's red plastic airplane—the only toy he'd brought with him when he arrived at the house. I knew you didn't take it, knowing of its importance to the kid, but one of the other children of the house had, thinking it would be a great joke. You were always popular amongst the underdogs, Mello. They'd do anything to impress you, and they thought they were doing you a favor by stealing something precious from your rival.

They probably couldn't tell, because they didn't know you that well, but I could see it. That nervous look in your eye that only grew worse when one of the kids dragged Near by the arm out of the house and into the backyard where you and everyone were standing.

I remember the sinking in my stomach knowing nothing good was going to come out of what was about to happen, but it wasn't my place to step in and help. That was your decision, Mello, and you chose to do wrong.

"_Crush it, Mello! Do it! Do it! Show him his place!"_ The kids had chanted, urging you on and giving Near malicious looks.

And then the one that had dragged Near out of the house, shoved him forwards roughly so he fell on his hands and knees. The yard didn't exactly have the softest grass either, and when he looked up at you with confused and scared eyes begging you silently for help and holding a scraped palm out to you, you stepped away from him.

The kids started laughing at him and you just stood there, looking down at him with a seemingly cold expression on your face, but Mello, I could tell it was fake. Too bad Near couldn't.

"_Crush it, Mello! Come on!"_ The kids continued to shout, looking at you with excitement and giving you the attention that Near had stolen upon his arrival.

And I watched in disappointment as you raised a black booted foot over the young boy's precious toy and slammed down on it as hard as you could. There was a loud snap as the wings snapped off and the body of the plane was bent in half. You broke the toy beyond repair, just like your friendship with Near.

The kids laughed and cheered about how great you were while simultaneously pointing at and ridiculing Near. And you smirked cockily at every single one of them while making sure to keep your eyes off of him. And I noticed how your gloved hands fisted at your sides and how your shoulders seemed a little hunched. And I could tell that you knew that you had made the wrong decision.

It wasn't long before the children became bored now that the show was over and returned to the house. You followed behind them at a distance. You stopped in the middle of the yard and turned to look back, your wicked countenance gone and replaced with a boy who looked like he wanted to do nothing but run up to the white-clad child and hold him close. But you couldn't and you didn't.

And he was still sitting on the ground, one of his knees pulled up to his chest and a single tiny finger twirling a lock of his hair.

Mello, you couldn't see because his back was to you, but you made him cry.

When I returned to our bedroom that evening, I found you sitting in the center of your bed. Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and you snapped your head away almost angrily, but you didn't say anything. It was obvious that you had been crying, but I didn't mention it. I just stretched out onto my own bed and began to mess with my handheld.

Eventually, when the golden sun was disappearing below the horizon, you spoke to me.

"_He's so fucking weak."_ You said, your voice slightly rough. You were looking out the window angrily.

"_Who?"_ I asked, already knowing, but feigning ignorance.

"_He should have tried to stand up for himself or something. Why the fuck did he just lie there and let me…? Fuck…" _Your voice faltered, and I paused my game but pretended to keep on playing. _"Those little fuckers just had to take _that_ of all things."_

"_You talking 'bout the plane?" _I'd asked.

"_He told me stuff. His mom gave him that fucking plane."_

"_His mom?" _I wondered why the hell he was in an orphanage if he had a mother.

But you didn't answer me. I guess you were too wrapped up in your guilt and self-pity.

Midnight came, and to my weary surprise, you woke up and just stood in front of his door, but didn't go in. That night I didn't bother hiding. Instead, I joined you outside of his door, but you didn't even glance at me to acknowledge that you had noticed my presence. Your blue eyes were glued to his door and together we listened to the wracking sobs coming from the other side.

You watched his door and I watched you.

I've always considered you beautiful, you know? Well, no, you don't know. I've never told you. I don't tell you a lot of things, Mello. I didn't tell you how ecstatic I was when I found out we were rooming together. I didn't tell you how weird I thought your fashion choices were. I didn't tell you that I was jealous of your attachment to Near. And I've never once told you how much I love you.

Mello, I love you. A lot. I love you enough to let you use me like you have been almost every night for the past two years.

But I know that my love is unrequited. You only ever think of him.

That night, as we stood outside of his bedroom, you let me see you cry. I don't even think that you knew you were crying. Your face was motionless and in your glassy eyes I could see what had been so obvious to me before: you made Near cry.

I grabbed hold of your black shirtsleeve and pulled you back to our room, shutting the door behind us. You fell onto your bed and I returned to mine. Eventually I was able to ignore the sounds of your heavy breathing as you tried to control your tears, and was able to fall asleep.

Months passed and we grew older. There was a visible change in Near. He had become distant, and for the most part emotionless. He talked to no one, and no one talked to him. Except for you, Mello. You just couldn't stop digging yourself into a deeper hole.

Not a day passed where you didn't harass him. You'd go out of your way to find him and spend the rest of the day watching him and talking down to him, telling him that you hated him and that he was pathetic.

And I know why. You couldn't let anyone touch him. You had to brand him as yours, but at the same time keep him safe, because he really was weak and pathetic. You were so scared that if you just left him alone and ignored him that the other kids would bully him for you, and who knows the cruel things they'd do to him? And it would be too easy for me to have just told you to protect him and tell the kids to back off, because again, you had your pride. And you knew that if you were to befriend him that everyone would become jealous, and the bullying just may become worse.

And so you pretended to hate him to keep him safe.

Mello, he knows. He is number one after all—he's no idiot. He knows why you talk to him the way you do, and he knows you don't mean it. He understands like I do your immense pride and that if he were to let you know that he forgave you, it would drive you crazy. But Mello, do you really not hear the creaking of the floorboards outside of our bedroom door around midnight?

Years passed in the house and you and I were in our late teens and he had just turned thirteen—but he could still pass for a five year old. One night I woke up with an uncomfortable pressure in my stomach because I had to piss, and so I got out of bed and opened our door, almost stepping on, what appeared to be at that late hour when my mind was in a daze, a pillow in front of our door. I nudged it with my foot and it moaned a little, which was very uncharacteristic of a pillow.

Then I saw a small peach colored hand rub at his eyes before he sat up and gazed up at me with those wide eyes of his. You know, Mello, I kind of get why you like the kid. I don't think he ever made eye contact with me before, but the effect it had on me that night was really something. But then again, it could have just been the fact that the kid is fucking adorable. But his eyes didn't linger on me long, because it wasn't me he wanted to see. His eyes were all too soon looking inside of our room, right at your sleeping back. I closed the door, and his small pink mouth frowned slightly.

"_What the hell are you doing out here?"_ I had asked him. He didn't answer me, but stood from his spot on the floor and walked back to his room.

But after that, I always listened out for the floorboards to creak, and they always would. I never confronted him about it again, I just let him be.

"Mmm…," you hum pleasurably, running a slender hand to the back of my head and winding it in my hair, cradling the back of my head gently. I pull you closer to me and you tuck your face into the crook of my neck, your hot tongue lapping hungrily at my sweaty skin. Your lips are so pillow soft and your tongue is like silk, and the pleasure it invokes inside of my burning body is enough to almost make me come, but I clench my eyes closed and try to hold it. I'm dying for you to touch my cock, but you never do. You never have. And I know why. It's probably ten times larger than his.

I remember the first time I began to notice how your bullying him became a little more physical. I was sitting on the stairs with my handheld, and you were standing behind him as he sat on the ground putting together a blank puzzle in the living room. I watched as you knelt down, whispered something in his ear, and slid a black gloved hand beneath the back of his shirt before pushing him a little, not enough to knock him to the floor—you wouldn't do that to him—but enough to just make him lose his balance a little.

And then there was the time he was lying on his back on the couch, reading a book, and you snuck up and straddled his lap, throwing his book to the floor. He gasped in surprise and you settled your hand over his small mouth, silencing him. You then leaned close to him until your noses were touching and whispered insulting words to him while your other hand, that was not covering his mouth, was busy clutching his naked hip beneath his shirt.

But I never thought it was that strange until I saw your flushed face when you turned away from him, and right after you left him you'd always disappear somewhere.

It was when I found you lying on your bed in the middle of the day pumping your cock like there was no tomorrow, one of his small toys lying in front of you, that I realized your sexual desire for him.

And seeing you like that made me hard, and I realized that I thought of you as something more than just my best friend.

And you didn't even stop touching yourself even after you saw that I was there. You just glanced at me with those crystal blue eyes of yours before closing them and turning your head away from me.

And I was surprised that I had enough self-control to not touch you, but it had nothing on the shock I felt much later when you touched me.

It had been a particularly hard day for you. It was Near's birthday. The kitchen had been decorated with brightly colored balloons. The kids were invited down into the kitchen to watch Near blow out the fourteen candles on his white vanilla cake. You watched from the doorway, scowling the entire time, as Near opened what few presents he was given. I could tell you were angrier than normal. When everyone had been served a small slice of cake, you didn't hesitate to throw it right at the birthday boy. Of course, the others had to follow suit, and soon Near was covered in his own birthday cake—and it was all your fucking fault. It wasn't even funny, and you didn't even laugh. You turned around and grabbed my wrist and dragged me to our room. I didn't resist, but I didn't have a fucking clue what you were planning to do.

The door slammed closed and you locked it. Before I could breathe a word you'd shoved your tongue into my mouth. It didn't even feel good, but I didn't push you away. I let you kiss me, and soon your lips became softer and your jaw worked slower against my own, and then it did start to feel good. Fucking good. Neither of us had any experience with sex, but that didn't matter. Our kisses were sloppy and our fingers wasted no time for exploring—that all came much later. At that moment, all you wanted was a body to take your frustrations out on, and I thank whatever higher power up there that you chose me. It hurt like burning hell when you shoved yourself inside of me the first time. I wasn't prepared and so there was blood, but I just hissed through the entire thing as you enjoyed yourself.

"_Me…llo…_" I had groaned your name when you'd thrust particularly hard inside of my burning ass. It was the first time that entire time I'd made any sort of sound besides breathing, and the moment I did you stopped.

You panted heavily above me and your silky blonde hair was plastered to your sweaty face. Your blue eyes opened and when you looked into my face you looked as if you were about to fucking hit me or something. You pulled out of me without any warning, both of us unfinished, and pulled your clothes back on.

"_Shut the fuck up, Matt_." And then you left.

You are such a fucking asshole, Mello.

My ass was bleeding and my cock was painfully erect, and you just left me there to deal with it myself. But I got it. That's all I needed to hear, and I got it. I'm in this orphanage for a reason myself, and it's not just because my parents fucking abandoned me. I made a mental note that the next time you decided you were going to shove yourself inside of me, I'd just lay there silently and take it like a child being raped—cause that's how I imagine Near. Like that kid would ever fucking have _sex_ willingly.

And so it continues. Every night, you mount me just when I'm about to fall asleep, and we fuck.

I bite my lip and my eyebrows twitch as one of your slender hands comes between our slick bodies to brush gently across one of my erect nipples. You bury your head in the crook of my neck and breathe heavily against my skin, and I know what's about to come. It took me a while at first, but I'm kind of used to it now—even though it still fucking hurts. Your whispered words float across my skin and I clench my eyes closed as I try my best not to hear you, but that's not exactly possible.

"_Don't…cry…Near…_" You end up moaning his name and you roll your hips harder against mine. Your breath hitches in your throat and you softly kiss my neck. "_I…didn't…mean it…"_

You're such a fucking nut case, do you know that Mello? Who the hell imagines conversations with little boys in the middle of sex? Is this what you'd say to him if you were ramming yourself inside of his ass instead of mine? Probably not. You'd probably lose your mind if you were to embrace him. The only thing you'd be able to say is 'fuck', but that's pretty much the same damn thing as 'I love you', and this knowledge kills me cause I know you don't give a damn about me, and I've done so much for you and all he's done is fucking whine and look like a brat who's lost his puppy.

I twist my head away from you and my eyes crack open to gaze upon our door. The nightlight in the hallway illuminates the crack in our door, and I watch silently as the shadow of his feet shuffle across the floorboards. I'm never going to tell you that he hears us every night because I know it'd kill you as it kills him, and then you'd stop touching me, and I just can't let that happen.

You're not the only one that gets to be fucking selfish, asshole, and I'm not a nice guy. I don't give two shits about the kid to be honest, but I know you do, and so I comfort you.

I love you, you motherfucking psycho.

I suppose I'll just forever remain with you, Mello, as an inadequate substitute for the one that you'll never admit you love.

**A/N: So, what do you think? This is just how I kind of pictured Mello and Matt's relationship…I hope you guys liked it. Please review! I appreciate them so very much! :') AND check out (if you want) the pictures I linked on my profile (photobucket so it's safe). They're just a few pics that inspired this. :)**


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